


Something big and sweet and rotten, but most of all something true

by GwendolenFairfax



Series: Die Liebe ist ein wildes Tier [3]
Category: Emigrate (Band), Rammstein
Genre: Alcohol, Angst and Porn, Angst and Romance, Character Study, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:01:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23412046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GwendolenFairfax/pseuds/GwendolenFairfax
Summary: Richard’s first-person perspective on this complicated relationship. It’s in English, but I am afraid it doesn’t make a lot of sense if you haven’t read “Lieben und Verdammen” and “Verdammen und Lieben”. But I might be wrong and maybe it’s still understandable without the German “main story”.
Relationships: Richard Kruspe & Till Lindemann, Richard Kruspe/Till Lindemann
Series: Die Liebe ist ein wildes Tier [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1498196
Comments: 34
Kudos: 50





	1. If I could only drain you from my veins (January, 2010)

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn’t resist. So here is a bit of Richard’s first-person perspective. In English because I felt it’s fitting for him.   
> Lemme know what you think!

January, 2010

It’s a damn long fucking ride from Berlin to Luxembourg. At least when you are stuck on a tour bus at night with everybody else sound asleep except for you and the guy that left you for completely imaginary reasons. Not only left, but abandoned you like a cat you drop at the shelter because it has gotten too complicated for your sorry ass. Or rather because your tangled brain suddenly believes that YOU are too complicated for the cat. So better forsake it completely, right?

I’m looking at Till from my side of the bus. Who am I kidding... I am actually STARING at him. He is sitting on one of the upholstered bench seats on his side of the bus and pretends he is reading the book in his hands. 

_Yeah, right, no amount of gazing into this book will trick me, Till. You haven’t turned the page since 5 minutes. You’re avoiding eye contact. I know that you’re trying to ignore me. I know that you know I am looking at you right now. You fucking KNOW I am thinking about you right now. Till... bastard._

_Look at me..._

There is a huge lump in my throat and my eyes start to burn. Shit! I get up. I need alcohol to survive this night with some dignity intact. I absolutely refuse to let myself start sobbing in front of him like a toddler. Not because I think that it would be unmanly or some kind of bullshit like that. No. The bitch just doesn’t deserve to see my tears. He doesn’t deserve to see me vulnerable anymore. He forfeited that privilege.

And because of my remaining sense of self-preservation. Letting him see me vulnerable would trick me into thinking that he would still know what to do with all my vulnerability. That he would help me do something with it. Would remind me too much of what we had.

I grab a bottle of Vodka from the fridge in the front of the bus, because a beer just won’t cut it. I open the bottle, take a big swig and stare at him once again. At the back of his head now because he’s sitting facing backwards. 

_And YEAH, Till! We actually HAD it. Doesn’t matter what you think was between us. How much you think I “missed the point”. How much you think you lied to me. Because you are a delusional bullhead. A bullhead who chose to believe in his self-hating delusions instead of listening to the person actually involved and affected. I had you. You had me. There was no lie. Not even one._

_We had it..._

I actually tried to talk to him several times after that fucked-up day when we shot “Haifisch”. When he left me. But he ignored me every time, wouldn’t listen.

_Why didn’t you listen to me?_

And now I am done. I won’t degrade myself anymore by trying to get him to listen to me. To REALLY listen to me.

_To convince you to come back to me. To... take me back._

Till and I are over!

But fucking hell... I can’t stop using the word WE when I see him or when I think about him. And then to realize over and fucking over that HE abandoned this WE. It hurts. So. Damn. Much. And it’s not the good, physical kind of pain. I wish it was.

I want him to acknowledge that I’m hurting. At least that! But he ignores me. And he doesn’t talk to me. And I’m done trying.

So I figured I have to live with this pain all by myself. Problem is I can’t just live with it. Cause living involves working and laughing and hobbies and thinking about anything else that isn’t Till. And I can barely do any of this because everything is accompanied by pain since I can’t stop thinking about the fuckhead.

I came up with a solution though. And it sounds simple enough: Get him out. Out of my thoughts, out of my fantasies, out of my mind. And in the end: Out of my heart. Yeah, right, sure... simple.

I thought about a few tactics which might help me to get him out and I had some time testing them prior to this tour. All tactics involve redirecting my attention to something else that keeps me busy and occupied and therefore - in theory - from thinking about Till and US.

The tactics work two thirds of the time when I am not in his presence. When my mind wanders off to that fucking familiar place that is Till then, I do breathing exercises or Yoga or I play a video game.

They are successful a third of the time when I am near him for a limited amount of time, for example when we are rehearsing. I focus on the music then.

But 2 hours in a bus with him have taught me that they hardly work when I am around him ALL the time. Guess that makes sense. But that realization is worth jack shit. It doesn’t help me.

But alcohol might.

Maybe it won’t stop me from thinking about him. But I won’t give a fuck. And that will preserve my dignity AND my sanity...

Bullshit.

Alcohol won’t help me maintain my dignity because I will do all kinds of stupid stuff when I’m drunk. And doing stupid stuff is not my idea of being dignified.

And it won’t help me stay sane, because the thoughts and the pain will come back the next morning. And on top of that I will also have to mentally deal with all the retarded stuff I did while being shitfaced.

But I don’t give a fuck.

And I am not even really drunk yet.

I don’t give a fuck because it hurts. And I want it to stop.

I walk over to my side of the bus and sit down on a bench seat, the bottle firmly in my hand. I take several big swigs while my gaze wanders back to Till. He forgets to ignore me for the briefest of moments and looks at me from the corner of his blue green eyes. I stare into them.

_I wish I could forget you, Till. Forget everything WE had. Everything what once was between us._

I have to laugh because my wish is so ridiculous, painfully unrealistic. I will never forget him. He lowers his eyes back onto his book, his brow deeply furrowed. What’s HIS problem now?

_Did I hurt your feelings by laughing? Well too fucking bad, asshole. You deserve much worse for pretending you don’t love me anymore. For pretending you’re done with us._

_Or better: Please stop pretending. Please, Till, please. I love you. And I know you love me. I know you want me. You want US. Please, Till, stop pretending. Please!_

He gets up with a jerky movement and walks past me briskly towards the back of the bus where the bunks are.

This is SO absurd. I’m laughing again. It sounds so pathetically desperate.

I take another long drink and notice that the bottle is almost half empty. Good. I stare over to the spot where Till sat. There’s still a dent in the upholstery.

If only Till left me for proper reasons. For reasonable reasons. Like for example if he didn’t love me anymore. It would hurt like a bitch. But I could get over him then. I think. He left me for bullshit reasons though. He dropped me on a floor of lava because he thinks that his hands that hold me are worse than the searing hot ground. And now it feels like I’m burning up there. And I can’t get up by myself.

_I am so lost without you. I need you. I need you to direct my pain. Direct it so it makes sense. Nothing makes sense without you._

I notice I am crying. Sobbing actually. I am glad Till retreated to his bunk. Don’t want him to witness this. I tuck up my legs on the seat, wrap my arms around them and press my wet face against my thighs. At least now nobody will see right away that I’m crying. 

Even if we didn’t call it love in the beginning, we were in a relationship for almost 15 years. You get used to stuff in 15 years. And now the stuff is gone: his razor, his aftershave, his books, his laptop, his clothes, his body next to mine in the morning, the coffee he makes for me when we get up, his poetry that he reads to me, his smile when I tease him cause he’s in a broody mood, his tilted head when he listens patiently to me bitching, his ear when I play my guitar, his voice that fills every corner of the apartment, his hand in the back of my neck holding me down, his cock forcing my body to yield. My life feels wrong without him, because after 15 years it’s incomplete without all this stuff. I am incomplete.

I wanna drink another swig of Vodka, but apparently I dropped the bottle and its content spilled on the carpeted floor of the bus. Shitfuck! I kick the bench opposite of mine. Then my sobbing gets convulsive. I’m close to hyperventilating.

_Yeah, right, shithead. My life is fucking incomplete without you. I’d say I hope you’re happy now. But I KNOW you’re not. You’re fucking miserable. Just as much as I am._

I get a bottle of beer from the fridge and empty it halfway.

_But you and I don’t HAVE to be miserable. We can be happy again if you stop being stupid._

I almost fall over when the bus wobbles over a bump in the road. I wanna yell at the driver, but the cabin is closed. So instead I kick another bench, still sobbing. My tears and my snot are dripping all over the stupid carpet. So stupid.

I have to get him to stop being so stupid. Make him see how idiotic and ridiculous his reasons were.

I better do that now.

I take a deep breath.

I wipe a hand across my face.

I empty the bottle and start walking towards his bunk.

There’s another bump in the road and I go flying onto the ugly bus floor.

My head hurts. I curl up into a ball and hold it. My sobbing comes back. Crying is so exhausting, but I can’t stop it.

_I can’t make you see. Cause you ignore me. And you don’t listen to me._

_So I have to forget you._

_Please fade. Just fade..._


	2. Let me break you down (July, 2010)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is also very closely tied to "Lieben und Verdammen".

July, 2010

I cling to my guitar until my finger nails break and I start to dream in melodies. I throw everything I have into every gig and go to every party – after-show or otherwise – that I can find. I avoid Till as best as I can and he avoids me just as much. The others know that we broke up, but apart from sympathetic looks and the occasional offer to talk about it they don’t press further. I’m thankful for that because I don’t want to think about it. In the nights where I can’t stop my crying, I go over to Paul’s room and we have another drink. And I somehow manage to not crash and burn during the tour. 

The awareness of what I lost and the pain that accompanies it fade to a dull throb in the back of my mind. It’s always there, but sometimes it’s faint enough for me to ignore. In April I catch myself simply laughing at something Flake said. In May I don’t think about Till for a whole day. In June I have a one-night stand and actually enjoy myself. And then July comes around.

In between festivals, Schneider, Till and I fly over to London to accept an award from Kerrang!. I’m not happy that it’s only the three of us, because it makes it very hard to avoid Till. But the others are busy, so I try to convince myself that this is something that will help me. If I manage to get through this situation without breaking, I will be a step further out of the woods that are Till and I. A step in the right direction... Right, yeah...

I can’t sleep the night before the flight.

On the plane, I sit next to Schneider and we talk about musical equipment. There is one problem though: I can manage to avoid Till, but I fail completely at ignoring him. My conscience still tends to drift towards him anyways, so of course it fucking happens all the more when he’s actually there. That’s why I notice that he is sitting in his seat motionlessly during the whole flight, back straight, fingers entwined, staring out of the window with no expression in his blue green eyes. I know that look.

_What are you thinking about? Stop brooding, Till._

Then I remember it’s none of my business. Fuck! The fact that I’m not allowed to take care of him anymore is almost as painful as my loneliness and how much I fucking miss him. And it scares me.

Till is an introvert who can spend hours and hours in the worlds that exist in his mind and his mind alone. Sometimes he lets me participate. He reads a poem to me or writes a song and tells me about it or whispers things into the crook of my neck at night. He never analyzes and only explains on rare occasions. But I listen. And the paths he takes me on when he lets me come along are beautiful and intricate. But they are also dark and frightening and unfathomable. There’s fucked up stuff right and left of the paths. Till knows that, but sometimes he stares too long at it anyways and loses himself. He needs somebody to drag his ass back out then. That’s what I do. No. What I DID... Now he is alone.

Sure, if he ended up in such a dark place, he could pick up the phone, call a buddy or the crisis line or whatever and ask for help. But Till sucks at asking for help. He doesn’t ask for help... He never had to with me though. I did it anyways because I know him and I can tell when he’s lost. Also, even if he tried to turn down my help, I’m more stubborn than he is. But I’m not there anymore.

That’s what scares me the most. Maybe he’s stuck right now and can't get out by himself and doesn’t ask for help.

I take a deep breath and force myself to focus on Christoph. He touches my shoulder with one hand for a second and looks me straight in the eyes, then he asks me about my opinion on a recently released drum machine. Bless him!

Schneider and I continue our chatting throughout checkout and transfer until we arrive at our fancy hotel and get our suites. Till stays silent and blank.

We decided to arrive one day prior to the award ceremony, so I had time to do some sightseeing or shopping, but I am damn tired and need a nap first. I take a quick shower in the marble bathroom, wrap myself in the bathrobe and collapse onto the huge bed.

-

I wake with a start. Something’s off. I glance at the alarm clock on the nightstand. I slept for 2 hours, which is longer than I wanted, but that’s not it. I sit up and look around. Spacious, elegant bedroom, lit by the evening sun. My open suitcase. The left side of the huge bed.

Till’s not there.

Always the same shit. I wish I would just remember that he’s gone so I don’t feel this empty disorientation every fucking time I wake up.

Fuck! I need a smoke, a coffee and my guitar.

I call room service and order a pot of coffee. As soon as it arrives, I pour myself a cup, step onto the balcony and light a cigarette. I’m still only wearing the bathrobe, but well, I don’t give a fuck. I close my eyes against the setting sun, lean against the railings of the balcony, enjoy the smoke, my coffee and the summer heat on my skin and try to forget Till for just a moment.

His suite is just down the corridor. Maybe he’s still brooding over there.

I open my eyes, take a drag and look over to the right. I can see his balcony from here. He’s not there, but the balcony door is open. Maybe he went out for a walk or for something to eat. Maybe he found some distraction. I hope he did. I hope he’s not just sitting on his bed over there, staring out of the window, thinking about darkness.

Fear knots up my stomach and I run a nervous hand through my hair. Shit! I instantly smell burned hair. Forgot about my cigarette. FUCK!

I hurry inside to check the damage in the bathroom mirror. It’s okay. All good. Just one or two hairs. Calm the fuck down!

My hand is shaking. I feel unstrung, raw and on the verge of crying. Just fantastic how nowadays all it needs for me to freak out are the idea of a sad Till and a bit of burned hair. And there I thought I made progress. I stare at myself in the mirror. Get a grip, asshole. Till is a grown man. He can take care of himself.

Can he?

But what if he can’t?

He never asks for help. 

I really need my guitar. And another cigarette.

But first I have to get dressed. Losing it feels even more ridiculous because I’m only wearing a bathrobe.

I put on jeans and a black shirt and then I look around for my guitar. Meanwhile I light a cigarette and ignore the fact that every hotel room is a shitty non-smoking room nowadays.

Where the fuck did I put my guitar?

It’s not in the bedroom.

It’s not in the living room.

It’s not in the entrance area.

God no. FUCK!

I know where it is. It’s still in my apartment in Berlin. I forgot my guitar in Berlin.

Shitshitshit. That’s not good. That’s really not good.

I need air.

I sit down on the floor of the balcony, press my back against the exterior wall and hold on to my cigarette. It’s dark outside now.

I smoke one. I smoke two. I focus on my breathing. Inhale. Exhale.

I turn my head. The balcony door is still open.

I’m sure he’s okay. He’s okay. 

I don’t see light in his room.

Shit.

My ribcage feels too tight all of a sudden. If I don’t go over right now to check if he’s really okay, I’ll have a panic attack.

I get up and grab my cigarettes and my key card. I hurry down the corridor and knock on his door.

No reaction.

My breath catches. I knock harder.

Still no reaction.

I hear the blood in my ears. I knock harder and use my naked feet too.

Nothing.

I call his name.

The door opens.

Till is wearing a black t-shirt and black boxers. His feet are bare just like mine and his unkempt hair falls into his face. His blue green eyes look into mine.

Broken desolation and loneliness. Restlessness and quiet fear.

I return his look and try to calm my labored breathing.

He steps aside to let me in.

We’re sitting in the living room of his suite, he in one armchair, I in another.

_You looked lonely and completely lost on the plane. I was worried._

_No, that’s not true. I wasn’t only worried, I panicked._

_So I wanted to check if you are okay. See, I know you... we don’t do this anymore. But I’m scared that you will end up in a really, really bad place if you are alone with your thoughts for too long. I don’t know where they come from, but I know they make you feel shitty every now and then and I don’t want you to feel shitty. And I know that you would never ask for help then because you don’t want to explain what’s going on or talk about yourself._

He doesn’t answer, just looks at me with forlorn, but intent eyes.

_I know it’s not my business anymore, but to be honest, I think you SHOULD explain it to someone so you’re not alone with it. I mean: The other person might actually have to say something meaningful or even helpful to that and... I know how good it feels when someone understands your issues. You showed me._

He runs a hand through his hair.

_So maybe if you explained where your dark thoughts come from and how they make you feel, somebody could actually comfort you because they really understand what the problem is then. Yeah, I know, you don’t like to explain, but you could maybe accept some questions for starters. You wouldn’t even have to answer all of them, just some to get going. Of course your answers might be complex or even disturbing, but if it were me I would ask anyways because the payoff could be a happier Till..._

He looks at me unmovingly, his lips slightly open. 

Sudden realization hits me. I look back at him.

I didn’t ask.

_I should have asked. I should have asked. I should have asked about your reactions on the morning of the “Haifisch” shoot. I should have asked why you looked so lost during some of our extreme sessions. I should have asked what you meant when you said you’d eventually win in a way I wouldn’t like. But I was afraid of what would happen if I asked, so instead of asking I pushed all the questions away._

“Es tut mir leid.”

He doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t throw me out either.

I don’t want to leave, but I don’t know what more to say right now. 

So we sit there in silence for a while, looking at each other.

Eventually he turns on the TV. We watch an episode of Golden Girls together and talk about the award ceremony tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The resolution will happen in the next chapter of "Lieben und Verdammen".


End file.
